


The mornings showed, the nights concealed

by Bananas45



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Elevator Sex, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Harley Keener tries to help, Heavy Angst, Hero Worship, Hurt Tony, M/M, Most of the sex is Peter/Tony, Overstimulation, Peter's spidey-senses, Porn with Feelings, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Spoilers for Endgame sort off?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 20:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18836572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bananas45/pseuds/Bananas45
Summary: Harley doesn’t fill him in on what happened in the intervening years since they last saw each other. It’s good because Tony isn’t sure he actually cares.“What was space like?” Harley curls up on the couch and bites at the glass of his beer.“Cold, empty, painful” Tony clasps his hands over his chest. “Not unlike Tennessee”Harley tilts his head.“What did you come back here for?”Post Infinity war. Tony tries to deal with the guilt of letting Peter die.





	The mornings showed, the nights concealed

**Author's Note:**

> Updated after the lovely newtkelly Beta'd it for me which it was in dire need off. A massive thank you to them as it reads so, so much better now. 
> 
> Basically couldn't handle writing about Peter losing Tony so wrote about Tony losing Peter instead.  
> Way easier.  
> Set during the five year gap in Endgame.
> 
> I actually forgot Harley Keener existed until that funeral scene.

Tony Stark looks for things to fix. He’s never been mighty fine at fixing himself. 

 

In the aftermath of everything that happened—half the universe ending, his embarrassing defeat which he tries not to dwell on, losing Peter (and it’s that last one, Christ, it’s that last one that leaves him feeling hollow and dark, makes him hate every inch of himself and his ego for involving the kid back when he was desperately petty and one-upping Rogers. And after that too, when he didn’t just say “no” to, well, everything the kid suggested)—Pepper takes one look at him once he’s up and not on the verge of dying and tells him to take a break, take a step back. And so, Tony does. Even if it’s in the worst way possible. 

 

He knows it’s bad. It’s pathetic, in fact. He hides his true intentions, his true loss, behind what he justifies to himself as mild concern and a lacking social life. But still, knocking on the door in the middle of ass-nowhere in Tennessee makes his heart clench. 

 

A part of him wishes it’s the wrong house and another part dreads that it is right and still, nobody answers. That would mean the absolute worst, that somehow Tony managed to fail them both. 

 

He rings the bell and takes a step back, adjusts his glasses and shoves his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans.

 

The door opens to both of their surprises. 

 

Harley Keener has aged. Off course he has, that’s what kids do. He’s gotten taller, thinner, still got fluffy, poofy hair and chubby cheeks but he’s not a kid anymore. 

 

He looks nothing like Peter Parker. Tony isn’t sure how he feels about that. 

 

“Don’t gape, Keener. You’ll hurt yourself.” 

 

He doesn’t stop, his eyes are so wide that for a moment he does look a lot like the kid Tony remembers. He shakes his head but doesn’t speak. 

 

“Surprise,” Tony tries. 

 

Harley’s jaw clenches and he cocks his head, leaning against the door as he takes a shaky breath. 

 

“I thought you were dead.”

“I was in space.”

 

“I thought you were afraid of space.” Keener’s voice has a lilting edge, half mocking, and it actually stings Tony a little. We all get soft with age.

 

“Yeah, well, face your fears. Get out and about. I try not to let those things hold me back.” He shrugs. 

 

“I hate you,” Harley says, soft and sudden. 

 

“Yup. So does half the universe.”

 

“Which half?” Harley doesn’t miss a beat. “Do you only come find me when you’re beat and alone,” he adds, looking down. 

 

“Something like that. You gonna let me in?” Tony clears his throat. 

 

Harley crosses arms over his chest and sniffs. 

 

“Maybe.” 

 

“Maybe?” Tony mimics his voice, pouts a little. “Look kid, I flew out here to say I’m sorry and that I’m glad—” 

 

“Sorry for which part?” Harley picks the dirt out from under his nails. “Leaving me with a snarky comment, a complex, and not ever coming back to see me? Or failing to save everyone I’ve ever cared about? You know, for ‘Earth’s Mightiest Defender’ you sure did a pretty shit job.” 

 

“Kid, I got you a Christmas present. You were what, twelve? It wasn’t that big a deal.” Tony sighs, ignores everything else Harley has said because the truth of it hurts too goddamn much. 

 

He’s not sure what he expected, but he knows exactly what he wanted to expect—big brown eyes with bottomless adoration in them and an intellect to match his own, with the added bonus of humility. Instead, he’s looking into the eyes of someone so painfully unremarkable that Tony can’t shake the feeling that this was a terrible mistake. 

 

You spoiled me, Parker. 

 

“Fine, come in,” the kid finally says, moving past the door and kicking a pair of worn-down Vans out of the way. 

 

The house is a real tip. It’s dark and smells like grief and beer—wait, Harley’s only 17–Tony decides not to give it too much thought. 

 

“Cute man cave you have here, Keener.” 

 

Harley drops onto the sofa with a hard plop. “Make yourself at home.”

He busies himself making coffee, flicks on the kettle and runs a finger along the cupboards to best guess where coffee might actually be. 

 

“So, where’s your Mom, huh? On the late shift—Ah,” he finds the coffee, even if it’s instant and a little old-looking, and grabs for a clean mug. There aren’t any, and he wants to chew Keener out for his terrible house maintenance. As he reaches for a pretty floral one on the top shelf, he hears a sharp and genuine, “Don’t!” 

 

And suddenly Keener’s behind him, eyes wide and brimming. 

 

Tony looks down and sees dust collected in the bottom of the mug. His heart plummets. 

 

“I didn’t—I didn’t know what else to do.” Harley’s jaw clenches as his cheeks redden, fighting back tears. “It was her favourite, y’know?” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, and he means it. 

 

That seems to shock Harley more. 

 

“S’fine,” he says before he buries his head in his hands and starts to sob. “I-I’d ask how you’re gonna fix this but you’re just a mechanic, right?” He sniffs. “I couldn’t ask that from you.”

 

Tony pulls him into the type of hug he only wishes he could give Peter right now. 

 

His failure weighs so heavy. 

 

-

 

The first warning sign was mere hours after Berlin. 

They’re in a holding room in the airport and Peter is breathlessly holding his side, lounging out in a squeaky and uncomfortable-looking chair. Tony tries to debrief him on what happens next. 

 

“Did you really arrest them all?” Peter pants and winces. 

 

“I’ll track Cap—Did I what? Yeah, I did.” Tony frowns. “Why?” 

 

“I mean—are you—weren’t they all—are you okay?” Peter sits up and Tony puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him, but the kid is suddenly okay, impossibly mobile for somehow who got thrown around as much as he did. 

 

“Take a breath, kid.”

“I can—I mean I have,” Peter seems dazed by their proximity, Tony only notices in hindsight. “I self-heal.” 

 

“You what?” Tony is momentarily so genuinely puzzled that his hands just linger a little inch above Peter’s skin. 

 

“Spiders. I’m like a spider.” Peter motions across himself. His breath is hard and fast now and Tony isn’t even touching him. “I’ve got—Spider senses. All off them.” He tries to stress the words as if that will somehow demonstrate to Tony whatever it is that’s wrong with him. Why he’s acting like the girl in the unwatchable foreplay section of really bad porn. 

 

“Explain, kid.”

“You know, you crush a spider under a glass and it gets back up. I’m durable, but it’s not just healing.” He sits forward. “Imagine if you could taste through your legs and-and hear through your hair.”

 

Tony is stunned and, fuck, it’s a good feeling. He can’t remember the last time he felt this curious about, well, anything. He’s lost his best friend, arrested the rest, and hell, can’t even begin to think about Rhodes. And yet here he is, sitting with a fifteen-year-old kid he dragged into battle and focusing more attention on him than he has on anyone else in years. But Tony’s always liked new things. Shiny, new, interesting things. 

 

“I’m struggling to,” Tony admits. 

 

“Well, welcome to my life.” Peter suddenly looks distant. “It’s—overwhelming sometimes.” 

 

Tony leans his hand forward, the back of it curled into a loose fist that he hovers over Peter’s face, a millimeter away from being a caress. Peter goes rigid but his eyelids droop a little, his ears go dark red and his cheeks match, but his body is taut and hard. Tony can see the lines of muscle flex under the strain of the tension Peter’s holding onto. 

 

“Can you feel that?” Tony’s voice is a hell of lot deeper than he means it to be. God, he was just testing. He didn’t mean to lead the poor kid on—though, that’s a lie and he knows it. 

 

“Yes,” Peter whispers and his tongue wets his lips in a little sharp motion. He’s curled in on himself a little, like his body has no way of understanding whether or not to treat Tony as a threat. Kind of exactly like a spider would. 

 

Christ, what the fuck is doing?

 

He pulls his hand back fast and seems to drag the tension from Peter with it, the boy slumps in the chair. 

 

“That’s a fun fact, thanks for telling me, kid.” 

 

He gets up and leaves him there. 

 

-

 

Harley falls asleep in the crook of Tony’s arm that night and Tony works hard not to pretend he’s someone else. It’s unfair to them both. 

 

His hand plays idly with the loose curls. Peter’s hair had been just a little longer. He’d told him weeks ago to get it cut. Even if it had felt nice to pull. 

 

“How long are you staying?” Harley asks gently and Tony looks down at him. He hadn’t even realised the kid was awake. 

 

“Longer than I want to. Not as long as you want me to. Hungry?” 

 

He maneuvers Harley out of the way and stands. 

 

“How are you supporting yourself?” 

 

Harley looks awkward and slides into an oversized bomber jacket. 

 

“Dunno yet.” 

 

Tony hums thoughtfully. 

 

“I’ll sort that out.”

 

“Gee thanks, Mr. Stark.” He whines it in a high-pitched moan and Tony’s stomach drops. 

 

“Don’t call me that.” He says it sharper than he means to. 

 

Harley gives him a lazy smile. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”  

 

-

 

“Surprise.” 

 

The second time solidifies Tony’s greatest fear. 

 

Peter drops his school bag and his jaw. 

 

“What are-what are you doing in my living room?” 

 

“Checking up on you.”

 

Peter nods a little frantically. “Do you want like—a juice or something?” 

 

A little part of Tony melts in a way that it shouldn’t. “I’ll pass on the juice front. How’s school?” 

 

Peter drinks directly from the bottle but Tony decides it’s not his place to comment. 

 

“Do you have, like, a cool, y’know, mission for me?” 

 

Peter jumps his kitchen bunker in one overly graceful movement, as though Tony is the only person he can truly be himself around. 

 

“Uh, no.” Tony rolls his blazer up and feels oddly disappointed. An incredibly rare feeling on his part. Of course Peter would hope for an adventure. He’s a kid, why else would his middle-aged mentor come to see him. “This is just a friendly checkup.” 

 

“You just—wanted to see me?” Peter’s smile should be illegal. 

 

“Yeah.” Tony purses his lips. 

 

There is a little moment between them, a silence more potent than words. Peter’s eyebrows are gently drawn together, like the idea of Tony caring is actually painful for him. Painful in a good way? Tony hopes so. 

 

“I actually got something for you.” Tony holds up a finger. “Just a little patch for the suit.” 

 

He breezes into Peter’s room like it’s his own, and as Peter follows behind him and begins to rake through his school bag for his suit, Tony looks around. His eyes focus on something particularly curious.

 

It’s in his top drawer, barely hidden, a collection of really cheap girls magazines. The type that spew nonsense headlines about nothing. It’s the oddest thing for Peter Parker to own. 

 

Until he notices the headlines. 

 

_ “Back in ‘93 Iron Man railed me! Page 4 exclusive from one of Tony Stark’s former conquests.” _

 

_ “Tony Stark said he loved me but forgot to turn up to our DATE.” _

 

_ “Tony Stark picked me up in a bar in Michigan, you won’t believe what he did with his tongue.”  _

 

They go back a while. Any dumb article some poor girl got rich off of is here in Peter Parker’s drawer. 

 

He paws one open. 

 

_ “At an alpine ski resort, I thought the only thing I would be doing was my husband and a few black slopes. I’d been going through a tough time at home _ — _ ” _ Tony breezes over that—  _ “I didn’t know I was capable of what I did until I was face to face with that man. He was everything I could have dreamt of and more. He made me buzz with delight, and when he offered to take me back to his suite, well, I knew it was wrong but, god, it felt so right.”  _

 

Tony remembers her actually. Remembers her husband better though. Had a powerful right hook on him. Anyway, irrelevant, the real question here is why does Parker have these?

 

“Found it!” 

 

Tony blinks himself out a trance and lets the page fall shut. Peter’s gaze flickers from him to the magazine and he blanches. 

 

You could cut the air with a knife, Tony realises. God knows what it must feel like for Parker. 

 

“That’s cute,” is all Tony manages. “I’ve got a call from Pepper,” he lies pointedly and watches the barely concealed hurt on Parker’s face. “Call me if you need anything. Well, call Happy, I might not answer.”

Peter doesn’t get to say a word. Tony knows enough already. 

 

He tries hard not to think of Peter Parker, flushed and desperate, barely needing to touch himself ‘cause he’s so goddamn sensitive as he reads over Tony’s exploits in shiny printed detail and imagines himself there instead. 

 

The worst part is Tony wants to give him it, give him that and so much more. And the intensity of it terrifies him. 

 

-

 

They sit in comfortable silence with each other, at least. Harley asks Tony to fix his boiler and Tony happily obliges. 

 

Harley doesn’t fill him in on what happened in the intervening years since they last saw each other. It’s good because Tony isn’t sure he actually cares. 

 

“What was space like?” Harley curls up on the couch in the garage and bites at the glass of his beer. 

 

“Cold, empty, painful.” Tony clasps his hands over his chest. “Not unlike Tennessee.”

Harley tilts his head. 

 

“What did you come back here for?” 

 

The night is setting in fast and they’ve settled down. The garage has barely changed from all those years ago. 

 

“Isn’t that obvious?” Tony asks and looks over with a warmth in his eyes he doesn’t want to share with Harley but has nowhere else for. “I came here for you.”

He isn’t surprised when later, after Tony has consumed a healthy amount of Harley’s dad’s bourbon, Harley comes over and straddles his hips. 

 

“Do you mean that,” he asks and his finger trails over Tony’s lip. 

 

“Did I mean what?” 

 

“What you said earlier.” Harley leans forward. “Did you come here for me?” 

 

Tony clenches his teeth and lets his eyes fall shut. 

 

“I came here to forget,” and against all his better judgement—but who’s he kidding, this is what he came for—he cups Harley’s cheek. “Can you help me?”

There’s a predatory look in Harley’s eyes. Something that makes him look older than he is but entirely not innocent nor excited. 

 

“I dunno. Can I?” 

 

He isn’t Peter. My god, he isn’t Peter. He’s all talk and no bite. Peter was no talk and all bite. Peter shied away from the simplest of things but was so fucking good at them and once the kid got going there was no way of stopping him. Tony was just along for the ride. 

 

Flashes of their time together doesn’t ease how cold kissing Harley feels. 

 

-

 

Peter is sat in his living room in the aftermath of what happened with that arms dealer. Most of the room is spartan now. Tony wasn’t really planning on coming back here but taking a bruised and broken Peter upstate felt like a long way. He’s sat in one of those marathon blankets Tony found in a store cupboard on a floor he’d never visited before. Peter is in his underwear. His suit is unsalvageable. 

 

“I-is your stuff okay?” 

 

Tony smiles. “I’m gonna have to go with a hard no on that one, kid.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter looks down. “I’m really sorry”

 

Tony looks down at him and sighs instead of smiling. 

 

“Don’t be. You did a good thing. Some of it is salvageable,” he pauses, considering what to say next—the thing he should say versus what he wants to say. He’s never been good at saying no to what he wants. “What matters is that you’re safe.”

Peter tries to hide his blush, bless him, but fails. 

 

“I called your aunt. Said you were with me.” He pulls up a chair and watches how hard Peter’s leg bounces against the floor. 

 

He’d never noticed how huge and vast and lonely this place was until now. Until it was just him and Peter. The lighting feels inadequate and it feels like the city is watching them. Him and the kid. Or is Tony just being paranoid?

 

“Guess it’s too late to go back to Homecoming.”

Tony shrugs. “Taking my shirts is one thing. I don’t think any of my suits would really fit you.”

Peter looks away, his face dropping. 

 

“I left my date. God, she’s gonna hate me.” His voice cracks a little. 

 

“I left like three different girls at Homecoming.” Tony waves a hand dismissively. “They’ll get over you when they’re thirty.”

Peter looks bewildered. 

 

“I’m kidding,” Tony says. “Twenty-nine.” 

 

Peter lets out a shuddery sigh. The physical marks on him are slowly ebbing away. Tony watches him heal in real time. 

 

“You okay?” Tony puts a hand on his shoulder, solid and warm and hopefully comforting. Peter pushes it off. 

 

“I’m, yeah, it didn’t hurt too bad.” Pete shakes his head like he’s clearing cobwebs. 

 

“I don’t mean your body,” Tony says, voice softer and, god, he watches Peter’s eyelids flutter because of course he can hear the difference, he can probably sense the difference. 

 

“Your suit, uh, it was awesome. But it did a lot of the heavy lifting I used to use my senses for. I got so good at blocking it out. How, y’know, how much everything can be.” He blows his cheeks. “And then suddenly I was just a kid in a hoodie again. Had to dial everything up to twenty.”

Tony frowns, cocks his head a little because, though a cute little monologue, it doesn’t explain anything. 

 

“I can feel the security guard on the bottom floor breathing, you have mice in the air vents, and your heart is,” Peter pauses. “Irregular and so is your breathing.”

“Fuck kid,” is all Tony manages. 

 

“And I’m nervous and shaken.” He says it so candidly. “That’s making it worse, and being around you, not like that, god, you just make me—”

“I make you what, Peter?” Tony shouldn’t ask. Not like that, not like this, but fuck it, the kid almost died and he’s sitting here explaining how he can taste colour and it’s hot. It’s hot and Tony wants him. 

 

“Sensitive,” Peter mumbles and looks away sharply. “Why is your heart so fast?” 

 

His voice has dropped to a whisper. He knows, he’s staring at Tony and he knows. He knows he’s been caught, that his crush has been called out. He knows that Tony is offering everything he could want and yet he still offers him a way out. Still opens Tony up to being able to saying any number of excuses to leave this moment behind. There is hope in those brown eyes, dark and pleading, brimming with unspoken desire hidden under admiration and fear. He doesn’t want to screw this up, Tony can tell. 

 

Tony should stop. It’s the logical and adult thing to do and he is the adult in this situation. He should stop because Peter is too young, currently recovering from almost dying and, god, probably desperate to impress Tony after everything that’s happened. 

 

He’d probably do anything for Tony.

 

He trails a hand half an inch away from his skin.  

 

The blanket drops from those slender shoulders and Tony wants to drink in just how fit the boy is, just how perfect. 

 

He doesn’t say it out loud. He trails his hand around, never quite touching the skin but marveling at how the hairs seem to track his touch. Even the little silver invisible ones on the boy’s chest rise and shudder close to Tony’s fingertips. Even now Tony hopes his attraction comes across as scientific. 

 

Peter’s tense now, bare toes curled against the smooth concrete floor as he tries in vain to control his frantic breathing. His face is flushed—and, god, no wonder, Tony can only imagine what this must feel like—and his lips are red and raw from how hard he’s biting them. He wants to properly touch him but it feels like it could ruin something fragile and perfect. Peter is like a statue still in the street light, the twinkling of other skyscrapers and the cloudy night sky illuminating the empty space. Just Tony and Peter and all that is between them.

“God,” Tony says before he can help it and Peter’s eyes flash open at the added stimulus.

Tony can be certain he’s never gotten anyone off by not touching and barely speaking to them before but Peter just has to take the cake on everything he does.

Including fucking Tony apparently.

He’s so hard already that it’s painful and watching Peter squirm like such a hot mess over absolutely nothing is making Tony want to wreck him even more.

You ain’t seen nothing yet, kid.

He moves closer and trails his lips just a hair's breadth away from Peter’s skin. Peter whines, high and broken. He’s not even touched the kid. God, this will be the death of him.

He blows ever so softly onto the shell of the kid’s ear, palms making their way down the air between his hands and Peter’s ribcage. He can feel the energy between them, his own palm tingles ever so slightly from the warmth of Pete’s skin.

He’s fit and Tony is desperate to touch. Does the kid work out? Or does this come with all that swinging.

He drops his tongue to his teeth, like he’s about to lick though he really isn’t planning on it, just the warmth and anticipation of his tongue against the curve of Peter’s ear. Peter shudders violently, arches, and a hand shoots out to fist Tony’s blazer like he’s having an out-of-body experience and then, just like that, the kid goes still. Tony pulls back, hands up like he’s just been caught by the feds before he turns his hand inwards, in some vain attempt to check if he’d tasered the kid or something. He hasn’t. So, christ, he must’ve—

 

“Did you just come from that?” 

 

Peter looks up, dazed from where his head is lolling against the sofa with the expression of a dog who’s just been caught eating Christmas dinner. 

 

Tony Stark is speechless for the first time in at least a decade, if not more. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter pants, trying to even out his breathing, but his eyes fall shut and he swallows. “God, that was intense.”

“Yeah, for you and me both, kid.” Tony is still processing it all and looking at Peter, blissed out and smiling some soft secret smile, which really isn’t helping at all. 

 

“It was just. You.” Peter is slurring words now, eyes drooping. “I’ve thought about you—” 

 

Jesus he can’t listen to this. 

 

“Pete.” Tony doesn’t mean to sound so harsh but it gets the boy’s attention. “I’m going to touch you now. Understand? Promise me you won’t die.”

 

The boy bolts up straight and the joy on his face is barely hidden by the nervous energy. 

 

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Christ, he’s fucked. 

 

-

 

Harley goes with no resistance when he’s shoved onto the bed. He trips a little over his own trousers as he shucks them off but he’s staring at Tony with such an indescribable stare that maybe it’s okay to ignore. Peter would be almost incapable of being so careless looking.

“I didn’t realise this was what you were after,” Harley breathes as Tony plants himself between his legs and hauls him into his lap. He doesn’t go easily, he’s heavy and doesn’t quite arch his body weight. Every inch of him is a painful reminder of what Tony has lost and he should stop but, god, Harley is at least looking at him like he wants this, like he needs this.

“It wasn’t,” Tony says, almost a promise. 

Harley snorts and shakes his head before ducking his head back down to kiss again. He stays painfully still in Tony’s arms, his breath even and his body composed. 

 

Tony pulls Harley’s sweatshirt off and trails warm and calloused fingers over cold skin. He doesn’t squirm—I mean, why would he, Tony isn’t doing anything—and his stomach isn’t tight with muscles either but—Jesus. Christ. He needs to stop comparing them. 

 

He feels odd taking his shirt off for Harley, so he doesn’t in the end. Harley lies naked underneath him with a frown and a clear expectation for a compliment. A normal lover might, but Tony? Tony is thinking of other things. 

 

“You’re not fucking me without a condom,” Keener practically snarls. 

 

“Scared I’ll knock you up? Is that what they teach you in Tennessee?” 

-

 

He pulls Peter in by the waist. One hand around the small of his back as the other buries itself into his hair. Peter cries out like it’s too much and only just manages to drag in a lung-full of breath before Tony is kissing him.

He can feel how Parker’s body short circuits. He feels the moment Peter rationalises  _ Tony Stark is kissing me _ under his fingertips. It’s addictive. To have someone so openly worship you, so purely. To have someone so affected by so little and still have the stamina to keep going. 

 

Peter’s hands cups Tony’s cheek in this brave and intimate way that makes Tony realise just how forward the kid has always been.

“Oh my god,” Peter is whispering, breath fanning over Tony’s lips. “This is insane. This is—”

Tony strokes a thumb over the kid’s ear, slides his hand around to his hip and twirls his tongue. 

Peter sobs, fingers so tight on Tony’s jacket that it seems as if the material might give at any moment. 

 

“Bedroom,” Tony mutters. “Unless you’re gonna combust on me, kid.”

He stares at the shine of Peter’s body, the flush across his cheeks, and the tears in his eyes. 

 

“I won’t,” Peter shakes his head wildly, like he’s worried Tony’s actually going to stop. 

 

He hoists Peter up but realises almost instantly that the only reason he’s picking the boy up so effortlessly is because the kid is fucking sticking to him. 

 

There should be something vulnerable about being dragged around in your underwear, Tony realises, especially considering he’s still fully dressed. God, if someone saw this—Him dragging some undressed teen to his room as the kid pants and sobs. 

 

But Pete’s not just some teen and his shuddering abs show it, the fact is he could flip Stark with a pull of his arm and kick him out the 47th story window without taking a breath. The kid is so, so incredibly willing because, if he wasn’t, Tony would know about it. 

 

And that’s incredible too. 

 

“Do you,” Peter mumbles in between kisses as Tony slams the close button on the elevator and then hits the top floor. “Have a security feed—”

“Deactivated,” Tony whispers back, pulling Peter closer as the kid drags fingers through his hair.

“Wasn’t,” he kisses the boy’s neck. “Planning on,” nips at his collar. “Coming back.” 

 

Pete’s practically hyperventilating. His chest shudders under Tony and he’s so distracted by it that he only notices that somehow his mouth is getting lower but the rest of him isn’t much later than any genius should. ‘Cause the kid is climbing the walls—literally—with desire. His feet balance just a little under the rail along the elevator, one palm flat against the metal by his head as the other clings to Tony’s shoulder. 

 

Tony drags his teeth down the line of Peter’s stomach and wonders how many more levels of overwhelmed the kid can get to. He’s beginning to worry Peter won’t be able to handle sex. 

That would be fine, Tony tells himself. The kid is completely entitled to say no. 

 

“I wanna suck you off,” Peter mumbles, breathless and tranced. 

 

And all that trepidation Tony was feeling is blown straight out the water and into the fucking stratosphere. 

 

“By all—” he doesn’t finish ‘cause suddenly Peter’s not on his knees like Tony imagined. He’s got one foot on the ceiling, attached by his toes, as he hangs and frantically undoes Tony’s belt. 

It’s mesmerizing. He drags a hand tentatively up Parker’s leg, stares at the way the material of his boxer has bunched around the strained muscle in his thigh. His calve shakes. 

 

“Don’t,” Peter laughs breathlessly. “I’ll fall.”

“Ticklish?” Tony looks down but regrets it instantly. 

 

Peter Parker, flushed, dazed, and upside down, and practically drooling over his cock is not a sight his self-control needed. 

 

“You’re gonna kill me,” Tony lets his head loll back against the metal wall with a thud. 

 

“I think I’m already dead then.” Peter’s words die as he swallows Tony down in one. Peter moans louder than Tony does and a hand braces itself, thumb, index, and ring against the metal. Tony thinks it might dent a little but it could be his imagination. Peter’s technique isn’t a ten but his enthusiasm makes up for it, and the situation—which, if Tony thinks about in too much detail might make this end faster than Peter’s little face seems to hope for—really takes the cake in terms of hotness. 

 

And, christ, Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look this blissed out from sucking cock. 

 

It’s as though Peter’s whole world is focused, centered even, around giving to Tony. Impressing someone is one thing, but taking such genuine pleasure in making someone happy is something only Peter goddamn Parker is capable off. 

 

His cock hits the back of Peter’s throat as two hands hold his hips in place. Tony bites his lip because he’s not sure even Peter knows how strong that grip is. He’s holding Tony down his throat, swallowing around him, and barely giving the man any wiggle room. 

 

Peter is panting and squirming as Tony trails kisses across whatever parts of his stomach he can get near, until it hits him that he could technically suck him off from this position. He’s doing before he’s thinking—as per usual—and Peter lets out a wail of shock as his mouth pops off Tony. The foot holding himself onto the ceiling disconnects with the force of the feeling and it’s only lightning fast reflexes and the incapability to never stop working that make Tony flip out the watch gauntlet and stop Parker’s fall before his head collides with the ground. 

 

Peter hisses at the feeling of metal around his ankle but his eyes flutter at the idea of it. 

 

For a moment, the only sound between them is the whir of the elevator and Peter’s breathing.

 

His body arches with a gymnast’s elegance and he swings back to reconnect the tips of his fingers to the wall, his mouth returns to its place around Tony’s cock. 

 

Tony slides Peter’s boxers down his legs, tightens his grip on the kid’s leg and doesn’t bother teasing, purely because he’s worried Pete might pass out. 

 

Instead, he’s graced with a beautiful moan and an exhale of warm air around his cock. 

 

It’s amazing how instantly pliant Peter becomes. He’s clearly trying to ground himself despite the pleasure Tony’s giving him. 

 

Tony feels his legs shake a little and a tentative hand touches his hip. 

 

“Please, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispers. 

 

The kid could literally be begging for anything, Tony has no idea, but it’s the fact that he’s begging. It’s the fact that tears are trailing down into his hairline and sweat from his collar up to his chin that makes Tony come so hard down the boy’s throat. 

 

Peter makes a satisfied, toe-curling groan and goes limp, giving Tony no warning as he comes himself—not that Tony can talk nor be mad—and then curls his body up, as though doing an impromptu sit-up, and kisses the metal of Tony’s gloved hand. 

 

“Thanks for the catch.”

 

Tony puts him down and stares at the imprints around Peter’s ankle. 

 

He stands straight and Tony watches the colour drain from the boy’s face, watches how he struggles to catch his balance. 

 

“Well, didn’t want to explain to your aunt how you ended up breaking your neck in my elevator at one in the morning.” 

 

Peter flinches a little, from the guilt of hiding what he can do or the guilt of what they’ve done, Tony isn’t sure but he finds himself, feeling oddly and equally as guilty. God, the kid is young and Tony, well, isn’t. 

 

“I-I think this is our floor,” Peter says, weak and quiet but still smiling. 

 

“I think it’s been ours for a while,” Tony opens the doors and tries to ignore how Peter pads barefoot behind him like a little puppy. 

 

The intensity has faded and leaves Stark feeling odd, for lack of a better word. This maybe, probably, was a mistake. Tony just has to find the right way to say that. 

 

Peter just stares, as though awaiting instruction.

 

“You can go, Mr. Parker.” He clasps a fist into his hand and flashes the kid a smile. Peter looks crestfallen. “Or stay, do as you please. You should probably sleep at some point.”

 

“With you?” Peter asks, with a naive bluntness that makes Tony turn on his heel. 

 

“Is that what you want?” Tony asks, blinks and crosses his arms. 

 

“Want me to fuck you, Parker?” 

 

It’s painfully biting and Peter takes a step back at the tone. Tony watches his chest, watches his breath quicken, but Pete’s head just tilts just a little and he steps forward. 

 

“Yeah, actually.” His eyes just manage to meet Tony’s, but beneath the nerves there is a resilience that Tony can’t help but adore. Whatever stern speech about  _ ‘never again’ _ dies against Peter’s lips, against the hiss of desire and what could be borderline pain Pete’s feeling as their tongues twine. 

 

The sex is fucking amazing. Arguably the best Tony has ever had. He doesn’t dare say that to Peter though. 

 

His hands are fast and nimble. He strips Tony with an agility that surprises them both. He’s eager but he’s not needy. He’s come down from whatever high he was on before, has begun to control whatever hypersensitivity made him look so ruined just from cock-sucking. 

 

Tony sees the war inside the boy—he’s sleeping with his idol and he wants to take his time, but that’s always easier said than done. 

 

“Just lie down.” Tony drags two fingers from the gentle curve of Peter’s neck to the dip of his lower back. Peter fists the sheets. 

 

He watches the way Peter’s body reacts to the sound of the lube cap popping open. There’s an awful lot of stuff still in the bedroom, he’ll have to talk to Happy about that. 

 

When he slides two fingers inside—deciding Peter’s probably well past one by the way he shakes and convulses and begs—he tries to ignore the litany that leaves Pete’s lips. 

 

“Wanted you for so long, way too long. If you only knew, Mr. Stark, if you—” 

 

A hand grabs the headboard and Tony watches the muscles of the kid’s back ripple. The wood snaps. 

 

Tony can buy another. It’s incredibly attractive. 

 

He twists his fingers and Peter’s head is thrown back with how good it clearly feels. The line of drool, the wideness of his eyes, the way his teeth clench. He’s like a dream.

 

Tony just prays he’s not acting. 

 

“You gonna come from this?” Tony asks, and usually it would be teasing, with any other partner it would serve as some subtle little play at his own talents but he’s shocked by the breathlessness of his own voice, the way it comes out more amazed than cruel. He drops an intimate kiss to Peter’s shoulder. 

 

“Please, please, my god, please, fuck—” 

 

Hearing Peter swear shouldn’t be so sinfully hot. When he finally slides into Peter, who demands he gets to lie on his back even after Tony tells him it will hurt more—especially in the morning when the line between a quick fuck and something more will need to be firmly, firmly drawn—it still seems worth it. 

 

Peter arches, and with a breathy, desperate sigh, finally says it. Says it like it’s the most sacred word to him. 

 

“Tony…” 

 

And fuck it. Just fuck it all. It’s as though god is playing some cruel trick. Beautifully attractive, devastatingly strong, worships the ground Tony Stark, the world-renowned egoist, stands on. Yeah, god hates Tony Stark. 

 

They kiss hard and wet and far too intensely but Tony can’t quite stop himself. Peter gets all the breath knocked out of him on every thrust and murmurs about how he can feel every fiber of the sheets under him and the pulse of Tony’s blood. 

 

“Focus on me.”

Pete’s eyes meet his, wet with tears and jaw hung open, breath stuttering in his throat and stomach already wet with come. 

 

“Tony,” he says again, soft as though he’s trying the name out on his tongue. Then he flips them as though it’s nothing. 

 

Tony takes a moment to reorient himself but barely gets to as Peter begins to ride him. Tony just watches as the hot mess above him moves like he was born to take it. He says he’s never done this before but Tony has to doubt it because this is insane. 

 

He lurches up, wraps an arm around Pete’s waist and kisses away the sweat and tears and drool that seem to be coating the kid. 

 

“God, you’re beautiful.”

 

Peter shudders violently. Tony smiles. 

 

“How long you been imagining me saying that, huh?” 

 

Peter tucks his head into Tony’s neck to save face. They go at it for longer than Tony expects. 

 

Every time Peter seems to shudder with exhaustion from another seemingly mind-blowing orgasm, he lays the kid down only to get a tongue back down his throat and his hands pinned by his head as Pete rides him again. 

 

Tony can only watch. Can only wonder how Peter has it in him to be so, so incredibly hot when he’s not even trying. Peter is just taking and taking and enjoying himself like it’s his last night on Earth. 

 

He must be raw by now, Tony thinks, with how hard and often they’ve been fucking but he just chokes on more moans, throws his head back, and exposes already disappearing hickys. 

 

He wants to murmur into silken skin just how much Peter Parker means to him but he doesn’t. 

 

He doesn’t think to. 

 

It didn’t feel of the utmost importance at the time. 

But with the way the kid says his name, like it’s everything and more, like he’d throw the world away for a chance to do this again, Tony should have. 

 

“Tony, Tony, Tony—” 

 

-

 

“Tony!” 

It’s a push, hard and firm to his chest, that brings him back. It hauls him away from the pure bliss of that night, of every time with Peter, and back to reality. Harley lies under him, unshed tears in his eyes and arms by his head. 

 

“Who’s Peter?” 

 

Tony backs off a little, suddenly feeling so empty that he wonders how he could ever have thought this would be a good idea. 

 

Ah, bourbon. He remembers now. 

 

“Who’s Peter?” Harley asks again, harsher this time, and sits up on his elbows. 

 

“Are you actually going to get pissy about this, kid?” Tony asks, rubs his forehead, and leans in to kiss him again. 

 

“Tell me what’s going on with you,” Harley snaps. “You didn’t come here for me, that’s one thing I know for sure.” There’s a pause and Harley laughs bitterly, “Are you even sorry—” 

 

“I’m hung up on some dead kid,” Tony barks and sits back on his knees like he’s been scalded.

 

“And this feeling? This guilt? It’s pissing me off.” He covers his mouth. “So, yeah, I came to see you. I came to see you because you—”

 

“Remind you of him?” Harley finishes. “Is that it?” 

 

There’s a silence as Tony looks over him. No, it wasn’t that. He came to see, came to see if he’d managed to save someone. Looking now at the tears in this kid’s eyes and the betrayal in them, he wonders if he ever saved him in the first place. 

 

“Because I felt something,” Tony swallows and suddenly his nose is tingling and his eyes feel dry and wet all at once. “And I let it get in the way of doing my job and couldn’t—”

 

He sniffs. It doesn’t matter anymore, talking about it won’t help. 

 

Pete’s gone. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Harley says, as though he doesn’t know what else to say. 

 

“Don’t be.” Tony flashes him a pained smile. “Really, don’t be. I’m sorry enough for the both of us.”

 

And he’s talking about everything, Harley seems to get that. He nods, just a little.  

 

“Look, I’ll, um, get you some water,” Harley tries.

 

Tony shakes his head. “No, I should go.”

Harley swallows and frowns but nods in understanding, a vague and sad smile on his lips. 

 

“Did you love him?” 

 

Tony thinks for a moment, of everything he felt around Peter, from admiration to anger to some unnamed thing that lingered between them. 

 

Yeah, he did. That’s exactly what he did. 

 

“Maybe”


End file.
